Dreams DO Come True

Le'JayDe and I have long discussed starting a joint venture. Among them is the P-G School of Sports and Life Sciences, in which we would teach people, mostly men, the essential values of being a man in a rigorous boot camp-style academy. That may or may not ever happen, but we have a new blog that promises to make your dreams come true, as it has ours. Check it out at:

http://duckbutterdiaries.blogspot.com/

NENRY Pride

A couple weeks ago I cam across a story in Harvard Business Review (http://blogs.hbr.org/fox/2010/09/tax-plight-of-250000-crowd.html) that described a group called the HENRYs. These folks, so-called because they are "High-Earning, Not Rich Yet," make between $250k and $500k per year and are subject to the highest proposed levels of taxation if the Bush tax cuts are repealed, according to this only slightly ironic piece from HBR. This group represents a very small percentage of the American population - probably less than 0.5% - so let's not forget a much more important group: the NENRYs.

The NENRYs are just what you may think - Not Earning, Not Rich Yet. We are society's wastrels and vagabonds, roaming from port to port, bed to bed, bar to bar in search of pleasing experiences. We bring an air of regality to sleeping in and are the sole proprietors of the daytime, when HENRYs BMW's are scooting them about, making deals. We are today's Lost Generation sans art: too smart to work menial jobs, too dumb to figure out how else to make it. We live in a wasteland that is light on responsibilities and heavy on perquisites. We show up to your party empty-handed and you thank us for coming, then we leave with your sister (she was lovely). So next time you see a NENRY, remember that he is an important member of society. And buy him a cocktail, for one day he will be a HENRY and he will be obligated to do the same.

Thunk

I just got home from a 4-day bender in New York where I had a lot of time to reflect on things, albeit reflect while hammered drunk. That city is legendary and it's pretty much impossible not to feed off of the energy. After spending a chunk of time in Paris, SW France and now in NYC, I am slightly overcome by the desire to live somewhere else. I didn't really understand why until this weekend, but it is all about the people. The people in NYC don't look much different than people here, they just act different. One doesn't get the sense that people are trying to be celebrities because if they were nobody would give a fuck. There is something in the water in LA, an attitude of general cuntishness that is so unpleasant.

But where is this perfect place I want to live? Mine would combine a big city with serene beaches and mountains, uncrowded surf, reasonably warm water, a chance to develop a career and friendly people. Like the perfect woman, I'm not sure this place even exists. She may have most of the elements, but then she is too cold. Or she is a little too boring.

Then one must question if he should settle, or question if that is even a question, and if settling is something we must all learn how to do in order to find a semblance of satisfaction. Maybe the concept of what an ideal life is what needs to change and not all or any of the elements that would comprise it. This leads to further ramblings, concerning the role of intense philosophical examination of one's existence. And if they are even productive. Le'JayDe and I were discussing the idea that stupid people probably have the best sex because people with a couple more synapses firing are too neurotic to enjoy it fully. Is life the same way? Does one's (purported and socially-defined) intellect get in the way of self-actualization? Does thinking so much really just fuck us up?

Next steps to be determined...

The Nada

Hemingway's exploration of the nada, the state of nothingness in which some of us (me) often languish and thrive:

It was not a fear or dread, It was a nothing that he knew too well. It was all anothing and a man was a nothing too. It was only that and light was all it needed and a certain cleanness and order. Some lived in it and never felt it but he knew it all was nada y pues nada y nada y pues nada. Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.

- A Clean, Well-Lighted Place

What I learned on my French vacation.

1. Titties are proof that there is a Jesus and he loves us.
2. Someone should have told me to go to the Southwest coast of France when I was 16. Especially Lacanau.
3. I need to learn to drive a stick shift soon.
4. The people around there speak very fast regardless of language – French, Spanish, Basque, or English.
5. The amount of bread and cheese consumed per capita in France must be measured in tons.
6. The French are not a rude people; they just don’t really care for or appreciate other people. You can figure out the distinction there.
7. I can’t wait to see what happens next in pro surfing. The level of 16 year olds is already amazing.
8. Somewhere in France is a treasure chest of hot 22-year old women, but that place is not on the sleepy and beautiful coastline.
9. After my final night in Paris I think the may be that place I had considered in number 8.
10. I have to go back ASAP.

Seth Godin on the tribes we lead | Video on TED.com

Seth Godin on the tribes we lead | Video on TED.com

Great talk from Seth Godin. He's a legend. I would like to thank the almost equally legendary Le'Jay'de for introducing me to his work.

Legends Never Die

Heroes get remembered, but legends never die – George Herman “Babe” Ruth

Yesterday, when I arrived in Biarritz, I received an email from my mom letting me know that she was having to put the family dog to sleep after a year plus battle with cancer. Millennium Irish Crème, or Millie, was born on January 1st, 2000, hence the name. She was never thin. In fact, she was always quite the porker and from the early days she became affectionately known as Chubbs.

In many ways, Millie had the personality of the daughter that my mom never had and a granddaughter to my Nana – she was spunky and sweet and loved her food. She loved meat, especially bacon. She loved the vegetables my mom planted, evidenced by the fact that WE never actually ate said veggies, only Chubbs did. She was the Kobiyashi of dogs, able to eat massive amounts of food, and her ability to eat with divine swiftness will likely never be broken.

She loved her belly rubs until the very end. Although she had several tumors around her belly she was not afraid to flip onto her back for a good belly rub as she had so quickly every day of her life. She never lost her personality – a testament to the fact that the only thing that gets in the way of us living forever is our bodies’ failure to cooperate. She began to lumber a little more slowly for her ball, or dig around a little less, but the inquisitiveness (and constant appetite) never faded.

Chubbs had been sick for a while, but when she passed the doctor’s predicted time of survival I assumed she had just eaten her Wheaties and beaten the disease. However, she took a turn for the worse over the weekend and her time had come. It is a sad day for everyone who knew Millie.